


StarMan

by drnucleus



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: And so on and so on, Based upon the book/movie The Martian by Andy Weir, Ben Solo Ph.D. Space Pirate, Ben Solo is Mark Watney, Competence Porn, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Farming potatoes in his own shit, If you haven't read the book/seen the Matt Damon movie I suggest you do, In your face Neil Armstrong, Luke Skywalker is Vincent Kapoor, Mostly accurate science jargon, No seriously Ben Solo is gonna have to science the shit out of this, Rey Parker is Mindy Park, Romance added for no reason other than because I fucking can, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, SwoloFic, because for fuck sake he's stranded on Mars ok?, colonizing Mars, just astronaut things, long distance romance, no seriously like 56.1 million kilometers, the martian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-05 07:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17914925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drnucleus/pseuds/drnucleus
Summary: Go to Mars, they said. Explore space, they said. You'll be back in thirteen months, they said. Should have been easy, right? Wrong. In space there is no for sure thing. No one sizes fits all situation. Space is the Wild fucking West and you're a gunslinger who's got one bullet left in the chamber. One small miscalculation, one tiny misstep and that's it, you're dead. So, what do you do when you wake up and find out your crew abandoned you on the surface of Mars, believing you to be dead? You work the problem. And once that problem is solved you solve the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Problem after problem. And maybe if you're lucky you get a shot to come home. Any questions?A Reylo The Martian AU for TourmalineGreen





	1. Stranded on the Red Planet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TourmalineGreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineGreen/gifts).



> This started out as an idea a while ago but like all my AU ideas it was sitting in the maybe someday pile. But then [TourmalineGreen](https://twitter.com/Trixie_Ren) prompted this for the House Swolo February Prompt-A-Thon and I being a massive science nerd couldn't fucking resist. And this multichapter fic was born. Will mostly follow the plot events from Andy Weir's epic novel and the movie starring Matt Damon. However there will be added romance because what Reylo Fic should be without it? Long distance AU gets a brand new twist with this one. Stay tuned for epic slow burn and science porn.
> 
> Thank you to my betas [nite0wl29](https://nite0wl29.tumblr.com) and [27vampyresinhermind](https://27vampyresinhermind.tumblr.com) for their support and flailing.

 

 

_There's a starman waiting in the sky_  
_He'd like to come and meet us_  
_But he thinks he'd blow our minds_  
_There's a starman waiting in the sky_  
_He's told us not to blow it_  
_Cause he knows it's all worthwhile_

_Starman by David Bowie_

Chapter Playlist: Starman – David Bowie; It’s Not – Aimee Mann; A Space Boy Dream – Belle & Sebastian; Supermassive Black Hole – Muse.

One – Stranded on the Red Planet

**Sol 20. Morning. Earth – NASA Mission Control HQ.**

Luke awoke with a start that morning, a terrible feeling in his chest. He’d only gotten a couple of hours of sleep on the sofa in his office. Sleep that was restless and tormented. The news reporters were already gathering outside again. Waiting for more answers and what the plan was now that NASA had to deal with the firestorm of a dead astronaut on Earth’s nearest planetary neighbor.

He looked to the coffee table, seeing the headline black and bold.

**_Deadly Storm on Mars Claims Astronaut’s Life; Forces Mission Abort_ **

The headline in _The Washington Post_ read that Sunday morning. Luke’s heart stops for a moment as his eyes scan the article. He knew this information already. Had been in the control room when Commander Erso had contacted from the Corellia 3. But seeing the name again in print made the impact hit home once more. His nephew was on that mission. Science officer, botanist, microbiologist, daring to go to an uninhabitable planet in search of the great unknown.

 _“Our earlier estimates of the storm had been inaccurate,” said NASA Administrator Lando Calrissian in his press briefing early Sunday morning._   _“We sent updated projections and the crew made a conscientious decision, ceasing all work until the storm passed and returned to the HAB. It was then as the storm was hitting, that their Mars Ascent Vehicle began to tip due to the harsh winds. Commander Erso made the call to abort mission, to get the MAV off Mars so that the crew would not be trapped on the planet._

_In making their way to the MAV, Chief Science Officer Ben Solo was struck with a satellite antenna, ripping a hole into his suit. The crew searched for him, but with decompression, he would have only survived moments._

_With the storm bearing down on them, the crew made the difficult decision to continue forward to the MAV, where the five remaining crew were able to ascend from the Martian surface and rendezvous with the Corellia 3."_

_Benjamin Organa Solo, 30, son of former Secretary of State Leia Organa Solo has died on the Martian surface where he’d been conducting discovery research into the possible microbial history of the planet._

Luke stopped reading as he set his phone and the paper down on the table, the shock, and pain of it once again, settling into him. In all his years working for NASA he’d seen his fair share of loss and triumph. From the tragedies of Challenger and Columbia decades later to this. Never before had he expected it to hit so close to home.

 _Leia_. God, what she must be going through. Strong as an ox and stubborn as a mule but he knew if there was one thing Leia loved most in this world it was her son. Her darling boy who despite their strained relationship loved her just as fiercely.

Han would be Han about it. Strong and silent for Leia. But the pain would be just as if not more acute. Their relationship was decidedly more strained. Han never did quite understand his son nor his fascination with space flight or biology.

Picking up his phone he dialed his sister, waiting only to have it go to voicemail. He knew that NASA must have sent word to her before the official statement went out. At least he hoped they had. Wiping a hand over his face, there was just one memory of Ben that began playing over and over in his mind.

Ben as a young boy, trailing after his pilot father, telling anyone who’d listen that he was going to be a spaceman someday. The grief was almost too much to bear as it overtook him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Sol 17 – Midday. Mars – Alderaanian Basin**

“How many soil samples did you say we needed, Commander?” Ben called out over his comm.

“Thirty from that region. We’ll have to range out as we progress through the coming days, we need 700 soil samples in total.” Commander Jyn Erso called back.

“Seven hundred. Fantastic.” He replied sarcastically and went back to work cataloguing and digging soil samples, narrating the experience as they went.

“How’s it looking over there, Solo?” Captain Poe Dameron asked over the commlink.

“Well I’ll have you know that over here in sector 30 the soil samples are coarse and completely identical to those in sectors 1-29, so these will be ideal for continued microbial and chem analysis,” he snarked back.

“Oh wow, sounds like riveting work you’re doing over there, buddy. Discovering dirt on an alien planet? We should alert the media.” Dameron countered as he made his way over to the Mars Ascent Vehicle, for routine checks.

“And what exactly about your task is so important? Checking to see if the MAV is still upright and operational?”

“Solo, visual inspection of equipment is an essential function important to the success of our thirty-day mission. And I can also report that the MAV is indeed, upright.”

Solo laughed, as he continued his collecting for the day. His external monologuing and subsequent banter with Captain Dameron drew the ire of Commander Erso, “Solo, you left your channel open again, which leads to Dameron responding, which leads to all of us listening which leads to me being annoyed.”

“Roger that, Commander. Dameron, our fearless leader would like you to shut your smart mouth,” Solo quipped back, making Dameron scoff.

“I’m not quite certain that smart is an appropriate adjective to describe Dameron’s mouth, Solo,” Chief medical officer, Armitage Hux, chimed in.

“Hux did you just insult me?”

“Dr. Hux, bringing the shade.”

“I’d be happy to turn off their comms, Commander,” Lieutenant Phasma Markov added in with her thick Russian accent.

“Markov, don’t you know that constant communication is key to team building and-,”

“Shut them off,” Erso interjected, and with a couple clicks of her mouse, Phasma had them turned off.

Ben rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“I apologize for my countrymen, Markov, they don’t know when to shut up sometimes.”

Phasma grinned. “Not a problem, Commander,” she replied. As she continued rifling through the day’s data dump from NASA mission control, her computer alarm went off.

“What is it?” Commander Erso asked.

Phasma read the incoming message. An update to the storm estimate for that evening. It was going to be worse. A lot worse than earlier estimates. “Commander, you need to come look at this. New storm estimate.”

“Yeah I saw that yesterday, it should hit with winds at max velocity of seventeen meters per second.”

“That’s not what the new estimate states, Commander. It’s going to be much worse. Winds at forty meters per second.”

Unsettled by the new information Commander Erso called everyone back to the Mars Lander Habitat or HAB for short.

Once inside the crew examined the report. “Twelve hundred kilometers in diameter, bearing right for us. Based on current escalation estimates current force of the storm could be upwards of eighty-six hundred Newtons.”

Concerned Ben spoke up, “what’s the abort force?”

“Seventy-five hundred,” Hux spoke up crossing his arms over his chest.

“Shit,” Dameron spoke up, still at the MAV, awaiting further instruction. “Any more than that the MAV will tip and we’ll be stranded.”

Chief engineering officer Kit Fisto shook his head, “So we scrub the mission?” He asked, as Jyn nodded.

“Commence abort procedures.”

“The margin of error in the estimates is ten to fifteen percent. We could wait it out,” Kit explained.

Ben shook his head in agreement. “We should wait it out. Going out in that storm as it’s hitting is going to endanger all of us.”

Jyn looked at him, a flash of uncertainty in her gaze.

“Let’s wait it out.” He stated again, hoping to sway her.

“Commander?” Phasma asked, the entire crew looking to Jyn to lead and protect them all.

Jyn remained stalwart, despite Solo’s supplication. “Prep for immediate departure, we’re done here.”

“Commander,” Ben called out but Jyn couldn’t be moved.

“Mission is scrubbed, Solo, that’s an order,” she called back as the crew began to prep for ascent from Mars surface to rendezvous with the Corellia 3.

Dameron got up into the MAV, getting it prepped and ready as the rest of the crew was about to leave the HAB.

The storm had already begun bearing down on them with torrential winds kicking up the dusty surface of the planet. The satellite antennae from the HAB vacillated violently in the wind.

“Commander, the HAB is at 2.5 degrees, and it will tip at 12.3,” Dameron called out over his channel.

The crew waded through the storm, heading for the MAV while the antennae above them snapped loose and headed straight for them, hitting Solo straight in the gut. The hit knocked him off his feet, taking him into the inky black with a shout.

Commander Erso turned, startled as the antenna passed by her and she saw Solo take the hit. “Solo, do you read?” She called out.

Nothing.

“I’ve lost telemetry on Solo,” Hux called back.

“Fuck. SOLO! Do you read?” Erso called out frantically.

Still nothing. Nothing but silence on the comm’s and the storm surrounding them.

“The antenna must have torn a hole in his suit.” Phasma added in.

Horror flooded the crew. “How long can someone survive decompression?” Jyn asked.

Hux with a grave expression on his face looked down. “A minute. Maybe less.”

“Everyone, spread out, eyes to the ground, we need to find him. He might be prone so watch where your feet are at all times.” Jyn commanded, and the crew began to search for him.

However, the storm was bearing down even worse than before. “Commander,” Dameron called out, “If we’re gonna go we gotta go soon.”

Jyn cursed again and took a breath. “Okay, okay. Everyone else get to the MAV. I’ll keep searching.”

“Commander,” Hux called to her. “Ben’s dead. There’s no way he could have survived that.”

“Jesus, Hux,” Dameron chided.

“Hey that’s my best friend who just died, Dameron. And I’m not to fucking keen to join him,” he reasoned and he was right. If they were going to leave they had to do it now. Together. With five crew members instead of six.

Jyn scrunched up her face in anguish. Losing a crew member was a loss she’d hoped never to feel. Another ten minutes of searching and alarmed calls for her to head to the MAV from Dameron later Jyn finally let the decision she was dreading to make come to fruition. “Fine. I’m calling it.” She announced before heading to the MAV with the rest of the crew.

The MAV took off within minutes, heading straight off the planet, jostling and turbulent through the storm until it broke into lower orbit. The Corellia 3 was waiting for them, a large mobile international space station that they’d taken on their six-month journey here thanks to the relative locations of both their home planet and their original destination. Jyn looked to the empty chair at her left. Closing her eyes as they proceeded with docking procedures.

The weight of Ben’s death laid waste to the crew but most of all for Jyn. This was her second mission to the red planet and fifth space excursion in her storied career at NASA. And this was the first time she’d ever lost a crew member. The anguish of it boiled beneath the surface of her calm and collected exterior. There was time to have an emotional breakdown later. Right now, she had four crew members to get safely aboard the Corellia 3. As much as Solo had annoyed her to no end she knew his expertise in botany and microbiology were invaluable to their mission. She respected him as a fellow scientist and as a person. Now his body would be covered in sand and dust on an alien world more than fifty-six-million kilometers from home. Because of that she had the terrible job of delivering the news to NASA and the world that the Red Planet had claimed its first victim.

“Mission Control, this is the Corellia 3, due to the storm we’ve had to abort mission. Five crew members are safe and aboard the Corellia 3 and are commencing the journey home. Unfortunately, in our attempt to get to the MAV, an antenna broke off and hit one of the crew. Mission Control, Science officer Ben Solo died on Sol 17.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Sol 18. Midmorning. Mars – Alderaanian Basin**

“Oxygen at critical levels,” a mechanical voice rang out in his head, along with the most annoying beeping noise, rousing him from unconsciousness.

A groan followed. And then searing pain across his left flank. Trying to rise from the sand and dirt, Ben looked down, seeing a metal shard of antenna protruding from the left epigastric region of his abdomen. “Fuck me,” he said, panting as he struggled to stand through the terrible pain.

“Oxygen at critical levels,” the voice said again as the beeping became more urgent.

The solar panel on oxygen generator dinged as sand sloughed off and the cacophony of alarm bells went silent.

Ben looked around, noting that he’d been tossed a good 300 meters from the HAB. But thankful that he could still see it, he went to move only to cry out in pain as the shard still tied to a cable tugged at his wound. “Mother fucking fuck,” he yelped. Taking his utility knife out of his suit’s belt pack he cut himself loose and began the slow, excruciating trek to the HAB.

It felt like it took hours, trudging through uneven sand and rock. He was struck by the silence of it all. Just his heartbeat and his breathing ringing in his ears. He was alone on the planet.

Abandoned. Presumed dead.

His parents. They were the first thing to pop into his mind. He was the only son. Only child. The last scion of the Solo, Skywalker and Organa families. And he was going to fucking die. Just not when they thought he would.

He wondered as he trudged into the HAB, stripping down once the air lock was secure, what his mother’s reaction would be. Sobbing? Quiet resignation? They never really had a great relationship but this was huge. Breathing heavy he observed the shard protruding from his abdomen. Performing surgery on oneself was not for the faint of heart.

Going over to the med cabinets he pulled all the supplies he was going to need. Medical staples, antiseptic, forceps, and bandages, lots of fucking bandages. He’d get pain killers out after he saved his own fucking life. Sitting on a chair he angled a light and mirror to and pulled the shard out, screaming in pain as he did.

He could still feel and see a small piece inside when he examined the hole with the mirror and light. Taking a breath he spread the wound with the spreader and used surgical forceps to fish out the metal embedded in his deep muscle tissue. He was lucky. Extremely fucking lucky. He would probably die in a few days from internal bleeding if he had what he suspected was a lacerated liver.

What he wouldn’t give for an ultrasound machine or an X-ray right about now. All he could do was patch himself up and pray that he didn’t die from his injuries. Because that would be a boring way to go in his opinion. With a million ways to die on this desolate planet, dying because of an infection, or internal bleeding was low on his list.

Once cleaned up, he popped a couple Vicodin from the drug cabinet and took a long drink of water. Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders he walked over to the HAB’s computer system, noting that while communications with Mission control were down thanks to the antenna he’d just surgically removed, the computer’s video log system was still operational.

Clicking on it. he pressed record.

**_Log Entry – Sol 18_ **

_“It’s Sol 18. Due to a storm on Sol 17 the crew of the Corellia 3 proceeded to abort mission. During our walk to the MAV, I was struck by a communications antenna, ripping a hole in my suit and impaling my abdomen. Lucky I’d gotten impaled. Never thought I'd say those words, in that order. But true all the same. The antenna must have sealed the hole it made because I am still fucking alive._

_The crew is gone. Presumably back on the Corellia 3, making the six-to-eight month journey home. You’ll have to forgive me I can’t remember exactly what the orbits are like at the moment. I’m sure you will, whoever ends up watching this someday._

_The crew had every reason to think me dead. I still don’t quite understand how the fuck I’m alive. Let alone how I’m going to survive on this uninhabitable planet._

_I’m fucked. So very fucking fucked.”_

Ben paused, the emotion overcoming him at the thought of dying on this planet. Dying alone. Starving to death. Or worse, something goes wrong and a decompression event occurs and then he’s supremely fucked, but gone in seconds instead of the slow decline of starvation.

_“If Mars doesn’t kill me. Starvation will. No matter what I’m a dead man. Just I didn’t die on Sol 17 like my Wikipedia page will probably say now. Ben Solo – first human to die on the surface of Mars._

_Well I always did say I wanted to go down in history for something. Just didn’t think it would be this.”_

He paused again thinking. He had to figure it out. Problem solving. It’s what he’d been drilled to do every day of his life. From childhood to graduate school to astronaut training. Work the problem.

_“The next Corellia mission is in three years. Three years is how long I need to survive. I have food for 6 people for 90 days, minus the 17 we were here. NASA always sends more resources than necessary in case something goes wrong. If I ration conservatively that supply I can extend it maybe to six months. Six months of rations and two and a half years before the next mission gets here. So, I need to figure out a way to make food and water on an inhospitable shit hole of a planet, and maintain the HAB for three years.”_

Ben took a breath, the wheels turning despite the swirl of opioid in his system, taking hold and numbing the pain in his gut. He shook his head, a low dark laugh rolled through him as he looked to the camera on the computer monitor.

“ _I’m gonna have to science the shit out of this.”_


	2. The Problem is Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben realizes he has to make food and water or he's going to die. Leia grieves and we meet Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! So far a great response to this little fic. I'm so excited ya'll are responding to it so well! 
> 
> Thank you to my betas [nite0wl29](https://nite0wl29.tumblr.com) and [27vampyresinhermind](https://27vampyresinhermind.tumblr.com) for their support and flailing.

_Chapter Playlist: Benny and the Jets - Elton John; Super Trouper - ABBA; Man on the Moon - R.E.M.; Anybody Out There - Civil Twilight_

Two – The Problem Is Water

 

**Sol 25. Early Evening. Earth – Organa Solo Estate**

 

The funeral itself wasn’t something that Luke would call an enjoyable experience. Funerals were meant to be endured. Especially when it involved sitting shiva with his bereaved twin sister, his brother-in-law and their close friends for seven days. Lando gave a stirring eulogy at the funeral. Even brought kugel as a gift to the first day.

 

Now here they were four days in as Leia sat in her shiva chair, quietly reading until an intermittent bought of grief would cause her to softly weep. She had held it together through the funeral. For the most part at least. Han was as usual there to rub a hand along her back and reassure her, keeping mum for the most part. If there’s one thing he learned in thirty plus years of marriage was silence was golden.

 

Fresh tears stained Leia’s cheeks, which had her reaching for her hankerchief to dab at her eyes. “I blame you, you know.” Leia snapped, cutting her eyes over at Luke.

 

“Me? What did I do?” Luke asked, astonished at the sudden outburst.

 

Leia’s eyes narrowed further. Clearly there was unshed vitriol brewing beneath the surface. Working her way through the steps of grief and already at anger. And if there was one thing Leia Organa Solo was known for, it was her poorly constrained righteous anger.

 

“Are you kidding me? You created this stupid familial tradition of going into NASA by following in our father’s footsteps. And what does my son do? He’s followed your footsteps since he was a kid, Luke. He idolized you and Anakin. And now he’s dead and I can’t even properly bury him. A mother is not supposed to outlive her child,” she argued.

 

Luke sighed, a hand rubbing over his face half in exhaustion, half in annoyance. It wasn’t his fault that Ben had followed in his and his grandfather’s footsteps. If anything Luke had tried to dissuade him from that path. Reminding him of the risks and dangers that space travel would put him in. However, in true Skywalker and Organa Solo fashion, telling Ben what to do with his life was a surefire way to get him to do the exact opposite. A rebel through and through, just like his parents.

 

But what Leia said impacted him in more ways than one. The entire situation was a nightmare. Between losing his nephew, the media firestorm, and Congress wanting answers everything was one gigantic clusterfuck of negative energy. What they all needed was closure. What they all needed was a mission that could redeem the loss of one astronaut and the whole of NASA in one fell swoop.

 

Luke turned to Lando who was busily answering e-mails on a shiva chair next to him. “Lando,” Luke began. “I need you to okay some satellite time.”

 

“You’re fucking unbelievable. Sitting shiva for my son and-,” Leia started only for Han to silence her with one hand raised.

 

“Luke, you’re not the only one who needs satellite time,” Lando countered, pocketing his phone to look at his friend.

 

“Right, but I am meeting with the Senate committee in two weeks, and if I can tell them what is left of our resources we might be able to ensure funding for five more Corellia missions.”

 

Exasperated Lando looked like he’d aged another ten years at Luke’s eagerness. “We’re a public entity, Luke. You go on satellite time and broadcast Ben’s dead body to the world and that ensures we never get funding again.”

 

Leia shot Han an annoyed look but he only nodded, trying to assuage her so that Luke could finish his thought. She wanted to wallop her twin brother upside the head for this. Here they were sitting shiva for her son, her only fucking child, and Luke has the audacity to talk about satellite time?

 

“Not if we do it to identify where his remains are. He’s not going to decompose. Corellia 4 embarks in three years. We could frame the mission as having a secondary objective to bring his remains home for a proper burial,” Luke added, turning to see Leia’s anger melt to a pained expression.

 

Lando sighed and took his glasses off, wiping them with a cloth he procured from his pocket. “Estimates said he’d be covered with Martian sand within the year,” he reasoned, offering another counterpoint even though it was a feeble attempt at that.

 

“Lando,” Han started, a sense of pain and sadness all the more evident in his voice than even in his expression. “If there’s any chance you could bring him home to us,” he added, emotion choking off the rest of his statement.

 

Han wasn’t a man who showed his emotions often. As a younger man he’d been less careful, took more risks. Wore his heart on his sleeve. Time and loss had taught him to be more careful. Now as an old man he was far more reserved. He hadn’t been the best father. He knew that. Every mistake he ever made with Ben was stacked neatly into piles in his mind, filed away to come out whenever he felt particularly vulnerable. Like right now, sitting shiva. So many years ago, he’d converted to Judaism when he got serious about wanting to marry Leia. Had indulged her wishes to raise their son in the traditions and deep history of the culture and religion. Bar mitzvah at thirteen, his voice cracking in the synagogue as it changed to that deeper adult tenor he’d eventually grown so used to.

 

Being here in the home they built together, surrounded by pictures and memories of good times and bad. Like that small stain on the rug that was next to the sofa leg. Ben had indirectly spilt Dr. Pepper there when he was eleven, when Artoo- their two-year-old cat-had knocked into the coffee table where it had been precariously perched on the edge instead of a coaster.

 

Or the framed pictures of Ben winning every science fair in grade school, to when he got a scholarship to Georgetown and followed that with dual doctoral degrees in Botany and Microbiology.

 

The pain of being here was acute. Almost too much. Han could recall every failure he had as a father. Between not being around much, missing birthdays and milestones thanks to his career and just genuinely not understanding his son's passion for science. He hadn’t known how to balance it all. Career. Family. Any of it. A successful pilot and then flight instructor he didn’t know how to just take a break and take stock of what he had. And now he’d never really get a chance to make it right.

 

Leia sighed next to him as a wave of fresh grief washed over her. Her own failures as a mother weren’t as present in her mind. No, all her thoughts focused on a singular point. What Ben’s last moments must have been like. Had he been scared? Was he in pain?

 

One thing was for certain, she’d give anything to have her boy back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Sol. 27 Late Night Mars – The HAB**

 

_Log Entry for Sol 27_

_“I am exhausted. Popped a staple on my gut while climbing up to the top of the HAB for inspection of the damage to the satellite. I can’t contact Mission Control yet. Other than my wound is healing nicely. At least I’ll have a pretty sick looking scar that I can tell people about if I ever get home._

_Oh, this thing? I got it while on Mars. Chicks dig scars, right?_

_For the past nine sols I’ve been working on pulling things together. Charging the rover and testing its range. It can go thirty-four kilometers before it needs to be charged. Now if I run the heater it drops that range down to 15 kilometers. I have to increase the range if I’m ever going to make it to the Corellia 4 mission site. And do something about the heating because I nearly froze my Goddamned balls off without it. I also have cleaned the solar panels and made a consistent inventory system of all resources that I have. Which includes the most abominable collection of disco music in Commander Erso’s personal items. How do you listen to THAT much 70s disco all the time?_

_But I digress, none of what I’ve done or catalogued is going to help me if I don’t figure out a way to make water and grow food on this fucking planet._

_If I’m going to make it to when the Corellia 4 gets here and get all the way to the Varykino crater I have to have enough food and water until then. To grow enough food, I need water._

_That’s the biggest problem. Water. Good thing I know, the recipe. You take hydrogen and oxygen, a simple combustion reaction and boom, water.”_

He sat back a moment, pondering the possibilities until an idea flickered into his head. Rocket fuel. They had loads of it as back up for the MAV’s ion engines. _“Hydrazine from rocket fuel. If I set up a greenhouse in the HAB kitchen and pull in about forty square-meters of soil to cultivate and then at the center of it set up a combustion reactor it might work. This will allow me to burn hydrazine and oxygen over an iridium catalyst, releasing nitrogen in the form of ammonia and allowing the hydrogen to bond with oxygen to make it rain.”_

Grabbing a paper and pen Ben began to write out his plan, running the numbers and calculations by hand wasn’t something he’d really done in ages. Worrying his lower lip with his teeth he also pondered what to do with the soil. Martian soil had tons of minerals, but what you need for plants to grow is bacteria. A microbiome to nitrify and fertilize the soil more than just what small amounts of excess nitrogen released into his greenhouse would allow for. And decaying bacteria would allow for other organic molecules to feed the plants as well, keep them healthy and strong.

Looking back up to the camera his face grew alight with possibility. _“Our initial mission was going to keep us here over Thanksgiving. So being an American holiday and the fact that NASA is an American Space agency; they sent us with the fixings for a holiday dinner. And that includes potatoes._

_Such a versatile little thing, tubers are. NASA had done experiments to test what plants could grow in Mars like conditions a few years ago. However, those experiments were flawed. They didn’t use Martian soil, which is devoid of microbes you find even in the most arid and inhospitable climates on earth. So, I have to add in bacteria. I’m human. I have a veritable fuck-ton, a totally scientific unit of measure mind you, of microbes living on and in me at all times. The human microbiome is responsible for a whole mess of things in the human body. From maintaining proper digestion, to the pH balance of your skin._

_Traditional farming techniques on earth use fertilizers that contain bacteria to enrich the soil. Fertilizers contain, often times, manure._

_Yes. I am going to have to farm in my own shit. Fantastic._

_So, let’s recap. I’m going to have to set a fire in the HAB to burn hydrazine and make water, and cultivate all the saved human waste from the waste container outside for fertilizer to be able to farm homegrown 100% Martian Potatoes. One big issue is NASA kind of freaks out with is the idea of fire in space._

_Fire in space is not good for humans. Fire means explosion which means dead astronauts. But, surprise, surprise what did I find in Dameron’s personal items?”_ He paused holding up a small wooden crucifix.

_“A crucifix. Wood. Flammable kindling.”_ He explained and then looked at the small metal statue of Jesus on it. _“One Jew to another, I think you’ll understand what I have to do,” he said, speaking to it as if it were alive._

_Shaking his head at himself. “If this is a success, then in 30-40 days I’ll be able to harvest and replant. Farming. On Mars. What a fucking concept.”_

 

At that Ben shut off the camera and sat back in his chair, grabbing a utility knife and began to whittle at the wood, carving off shavings and placing them in a pile on the desk a top a piece of paper. Getting enough kindling he set it aside, and proceeded to move about the HAB, bringing out thick plastic sheeting and arranging the space in the kitchen to suit his greenhouse plan.

 

Annoyed by the silence he popped on the only music he had access to, letting _Super Trouper_ flood through the HAB’s audio system.

 

“Erso, I swear to Christ you have the worst taste in music. But if ABBA is the best you’ve got in this bullshit collection of yours, I’ll take it.”

 

It took some doing the following morning, coming in and out of the HAB in his suit, wagon and shovel in tow. Martian soil wasn’t easy to get large quantities of it so it was back breaking work even for a guy in Ben’s physical shape.

 

But little by little, the HAB kitchen began to transform into a micro farm complete with UV lamps he MacGyver’d together from fluoroscopes. At the center of the room he set up an apparatus to trap excess oxygen, to burn it along with the hydrazine making it look akin to a hot air balloon.

 

Hydrazine came courtesy of the excess supply for the ion engines of the MAV and an iridium catalyst thanks to resident chemist, Dr. Markov, that would allow for the reaction to occur. Setting everything up for the water reaction took the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, but as he placed the hydrazine and kindling over the catalyst and allowed for the hydrogen to start to burn, he cheered as small sparks emerged.

 

However, that was exactly the wrong thing to do as the excess oxygen he exhaled in his exultant yell caused a minor explosion, catapulting him across the room. Singed and slightly dismayed he went back to his calculations before he set up the system again. Recalibrating for his own exhalations and keeping himself wrapped in a fire blanket and his suit helmet before he set the fire once more, fist pumping in silent celebration.

 

_Log Entry for Sol 28_

 

Still covered in soot from the fire that blasted him across the room, he looked in the camera for a full minute before he began talking. _“I have successfully set up a water generator and micro farm in the HAB kitchen._

_In my initial calculations, I did not account for excess oxygen that I exhale and almost blew up the HAB with a small explosion. I’m okay. Sore. Singed and my ears are ringing. But other than that, a small recalculation and I now have a water generator at the heart of the farm. This should produce enough water for farming and for drinking until at least the Corellia 4 is due to make planet fall._

_Now I have to make a shit slurry and chop up potatoes to plant and hope they grow. But for now, I’m going to shower and wait for my ears to stop ringing.”_ Ben finished, opening his mouth wide, to try to stop the tinnitus any way he could before turning off the camera once more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Sol 32. Late Night. Earth - NASA Mission Control**

 

Rey Parker tapped her fingers on the formica countertop in the NASA employee lounge. Working at NASA had been a lifelong dream of hers. However, working the graveyard shift in satellite communications or Sat Comm for short was not part of her original plan. Though she didn’t mind the hours at least not anymore now that her body had become accustomed to the altered circadian rhythm. There was a certain level of peace and serenity that came into the wee hours of the night. Still the loneliness could be trying at times as she waited in the deserted lounge waiting for her water to heat up by the microwave to steep some tea.

 

“So uncivilized,” she muttered. This place could do with a proper kettle. But since it had no stove or even a hot-plate really, there wasn’t much she could do to rectify that. So, she made her nuked water and steeped some Irish Breakfast tea to get her mental engine running on all cylinders.

 

Most recently, NASA had been in a state of mourning. Even now late at night, the few shift workers here looked downtrodden. Demoralized even. Everyone in quiet somber reflection as they tried to pick up the pieces and continue on with daily functions. Five astronauts still needed to be safely brought home. That was something everyone focused on. Though losing one was a far greater blow than most would say.

 

Rey kept herself occupied, running satellite images of the Varykino crater in prep for supply missions that were going to start in the next 8 months. In total there would be 14 unmanned supply rockets sent to the crater in preparation for the Corellia 4. Part of her job was to monitor surface conditions, and note changes as well as update on when payloads arrived and report specific coordinates. Thus her job essentially was to make sure the 14 unmanned rockets all landed within a feasible radius of one another without crashing into a previous supply.

 

Her work was vital. It was important to the success of two Corellia missions now and this would be her third. So, what felt like mundane monotony was actually something that meant something. She had a place in the advancement of human space exploration. She found comfort in that when the days grew long and her nonexistent social life got on her nerves. It wasn’t that she didn’t have options. There was Tinder and Bumble and Hinge. A plethora of dating apps with no end of options for dating. A simple swipe here or there and a few exchanged messages and bam she’d have a date. But once a guy found out she worked long late hours at NASA and had a doctorate in computer systems engineering, they either only were interested in casual hookups or were intimidated by her brain enough to ghost her into the next century.

 

The microwave beeped loudly disrupting the silence she’d enjoyed as it signaled it finished nuking her mug of water. Steeping her tea, she examined her nails, short blunt and in dire need of some kind of manicure. The skin around the edges rough from her picking. Maybe she’d get a manicure later in the week. A perk of working at NASA was for the first time in her life, she was financially self-sufficient to the point where she felt no guilt in superfluous aesthetics like manicures or massages. Going back to her desk, she passed the rows and rows of monitoring stations. Telemetry, status reports, flight status, fuel, weather reports, and so on. All things that involved the mission at hand. Finding her desk, she opened up her email on her smartphone, eyebrows raising to her hairline at the name across the first message in her inbox.

 

“Luke Skywalker?” She whispered to herself. Startled by the name of a NASA legend in her e-mail inbox, she opened it and saw instructions combined with a set of coordinates to examine pictures of from the day of the accident to today.

 

Typing in the coordinates she began rifling through the logs of images. “Alderaanian Basin, hmm.” She muttered mostly to herself as she hit upon Sol 17, noting the rover was in place at the HAB for charging like Markov had reported it in the mission logs she’d pulled up along with the images. But then she saw something curious as she flipped to Sol 18 and then 19 and so on through Sol 25.

 

Things had been moved. Solar panels cleaned. Sometimes the rover was charging and others it was nowhere to be seen.

 

Alarmed, Rey sat back and began to think. There’s no possible way what she was seeing could be occurring. No possible way that the rover could magically move several times, or solar panels be cleaned without someone there to do it.

 

But no one was there. The Corellia 3 was headed back to Earth. Except it wasn’t six astronauts coming back on that ship. Rey’s eyes widened as she flicked back and forth between the images, but couldn’t seem to catch a glimpse of any life form.

 

In science you’re taught that the simplest explanation is most likely the right one. And right now the simplest explanation was that Chief Science Officer Ben Solo was alive and stranded on Mars.

 

“Oh fuck. Oh, holy mother of fuck,” she stated staring wide-eyed and in shock and horror at her screen. He’d survived. Somehow against all odds he’d survived.

 

Grabbing her phone, she called the main directory. “Hello, this is Rey Parker in Sat Comm. I need the emergency contact number for Luke Skywalker. Yes, this _is_ an emergency,” she stated her tone growing more impatient.  Scribbling down the number, she hung up and called Luke.

 

“Skywalker,” the gruff sleepy voice said on the other end of the line.

 

“I’m sorry to wake you, Sir. This is Rey Parker in Sat Comm. I got your message and was looking at the satellite images.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Well, you really need to come in and see this for yourself.”

 

“Just tell me what is it, Rey?”

 

Rey took a breath, thumbing back through the pictures on the computer with a couple clicks of her mouse. “I have very good reason to believe that Ben Solo is alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and all your comments and kudos thus far.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, if you liked it please feel free to comment and give kudos.


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